


This is Suicide Season

by Miss_Psychotic



Category: Bring Me The Horizon
Genre: Death, Depression, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Psychotic/pseuds/Miss_Psychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be perfect. Perfect. <br/>I watched it all happen, slowly eat away at him. Watched the light fade, from those beautiful eyes, until they stared, unblinking, at the void.</p>
<p>It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Tom and I weren’t supposed to fall in love. We weren’t supposed to get married or have children, but we did. We weren’t supposed to have Jimi but we did. I wish we hadn’t.</p>
<p>Tom was 26, I was 24, Jimi was 2.I say was for all of us, for we are now all dead, Tom and Jimi committed to the ground, Me, just an empty shell. </p>
<p>No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. No not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We stare at broken clocks, the hands don't turn anymore. The days turn into nights, empty hearts and empty places

-Emma-

 

It’s cold, always so cold. Sitting on that couch, with my ragged blue woollen blanket, my old bunny slippers, greying with age keeping my toes warm, fighting off the frigid air, staring at the wall.

 

Oli hands me a mug of something, it’s warm and I can’t taste it. I long to taste something after all this time but my tongue refuses.

 

Oli sits next to me on the couch. He always does, never says a word, just, sits with me quietly. Sometimes we stare for hours on end at that wall. Staring so intently that perhaps one day we shall bore a hole right through.

 

Hours go by, and then some more until the last light of day diminishes and night comes. I do not like the night, for the night brings the sadness.

 

Daytime, the sun, light makes me numb, like none of this is real, but at night, sitting in the dark the reality creeps up on you like that of a predator and catches you unaware.

 

It’s at night that my hollow shell allows itself to feel. It’s when I turn to Oli, cling onto him as tight as I can and cry, until my broken heart is empty again. As empty as the home we sit in. Only this isn’t a home. Not as it used to be.

 

The rooms no longer have occupants, the kitchen doesn’t provide meals, nor does the dining room offer conversation, the lounge is no longer a place of comfort, but the only piece of furniture left, the couch, is the host of the self loathing Oli and I build up during the day and release at night.

 

Empty hearts, within an empty place.

 

When Oli thinks I’ve had enough, he’ll pick up my exhausted body and carry me to the car, drive us to his house, place me gently on the spare bed and leave the door open, so that when I awake from the ever present nightmares, he’ll be there to hold me and tell me it’ll get better.

 

But I know it won’t.

 

My son is dead and so is my husband, I have nothing left.

 

The nightmares are almost as bad as staring at that damn wall, watching nothing.

 

They start off happy, bittersweet memories. Jimi and Tom, memories that make me weep in my slumber. And then the crushing reality of their deaths hits me like a freight train and I can do nothing by lie there, shaking as the tears stain my face and my heart clenches so tight I fear it will implode itself into destruction.

 

I hate the darkness.

 

It gives me too much time to think.

 

Too much time to remember them, remember all the good times.

 

I don’t know how Oli does it. He seems to hold himself together so well, like it hasn’t really affected him. Of course it has, we all know that, but the way he continues on and takes care of me, it’s like nothing happened.

 

I think the only reason he puts up with my behaviour and stays with me is because he thinks it’s what Tom would have wanted. Tom and I were inseparable, before we were married, before all this really began we were friends, best friends and Oli would look after both of us as if we were both his siblings.

 

I remember Oli used to joke that Tom and I being together, when we first started dating, was like watching incest porn. Tom and I then retorted with “How would you know what incest porn looks like?”

 

We all used to hang out all the time, Oli and his band, Tom and I.

When Bring Me the Horizon stated playing gigs Tom would get into the clubs by pretending to be their photographer, which he actually was, and I would get in by claiming “Manager” I did organise most of the gigs and shows they did and I helped them with their recording schedule for the EP, but manager wasn’t really my thing.

 

I remember one time after the bands sixth or seventh gig we were drinking in one of the booths, being our usual loud obnoxious selves, drinking heavily and moshing to songs occasionally, it was the night Tom and I first kissed.

 

Oli pulled me up to dance and confronted me about my obvious crush on Tom, and Tom’s obliviousness to it.

 

Madam Obvious and Oblivious Boy, he called us.

 

As soon as I had admitted my feelings Oli’s signature grin spread across his face and he ran off to grab Tom, throwing him at me and proclaiming that we “MUST DANCE!” over the music.

 

I was a little taken back but it was Tom, we danced sometimes.

 

As soon as Oli winked at me and mouthed “Go for it.” I swallowed my pride and grabbed Tom’s face and kissed him hard on the lips, holding him in place until the shock wore off and he kissed back eagerly.

 

We ended up making out on the dance floor for the rest of the night.

 

Two days later Tom asked me to be his girlfriend.

 

It was a great day.

 

I felt fresh tears slide down my face as I relived the memory.

 

So many good times, so much laughter. All gone.

 

When Oli comes in as the sun begins to rise, I let the numbness take over. Another day without them.

 

Oli always offers me breakfast, he’s sweet like that, trying to get me to eat, to function, to live. But I always decline. I sit idly as Oli moves around the house doing whatever it is he needs to do, phone calls, telling people why he wasn’t coming into the drop dead office to approve of designs. Why he won’t be at practice tonight, why he’s not attending that interview or photo shoot.

 

I sit there quietly, eyes down trying not to eaves drop.

 

We drive back to my home... what was once my home. The drive is so mundane now that it just passes by in a blur.

 

Oli will get out first and open my door, I’ll walk ahead of him and open the front door of the house and let us in.

 

Then we remove our shoes and sit on that damn couch staring at that damn wall, watching that damn clock.

 

The one whose hands don’t turn anymore.

 


	2. The day you lost him, I slowly lost you too  For when he died, he took a part of you

-Oli-

 

A simple phone call can change so much. One day you’re sitting around in Germany, it’s late, drinking a beer with friends and band mates and then the next thing you know your little brother has a massive smile on his face. He excuses himself and walks off to continue the conversation in private.

 

An hour later he comes back and shouts for the world to hear “I’M GONNA BE A FATHER!” we’re all shocked. Stunned with happiness and all rush over to tackle him and congratulate him.

 

“How far along?” I ask hugging Tom and ruffling his hair affectionately.

 

“8 weeks, the doctor confirmed with a blood test,” I’d never seen Tom so happy, not even on his wedding day.

 

“Congratulations Tommy,” I hugged him again before we all raised our glasses high and toasted Tom and Emma’s conception.

 

Phone calls can change things so easily.

 

“Tom,” I said to him “Sit down, she said she’d call if she needed you,” I scolded him lightly, more teasing than anything.

 

Tom stopped pacing the Drop Dead office and sat down to check over the website and photo shop some photos.

 

It was a good half an hour before his mobile phone rang from his pocket.

 

“Hello?” he answered.

 

“Tom!”I heard his name spill from the device.

 

“Tom, now!” was all she said before Tom was racing out grabbing his keys and jacket.

 

“Oli, the baby’s on his way, call the guys and tell them please, I have to get Em to the hospital!” and rushed out of the door.

 

I made the phone calls for Tom.

 

The phone calls that changed all of our lives.

 

Jimi was born on the 25th of August at 6:57pm.

 

He was so tiny, so cute.

 

Over the next few years as Jimi grew he became all of ours. If Emma had a job or Tom had a shoot we’d all volunteer for who got to look after him, sometimes we fought over him.

 

But you could see it on Emma and Tom’s face as soon as they came through the door to see their son safe, they were instantly at peace.

 

And when Emma would sit sideways on Tom’s lap with Jimi on her own lap the three of them just looked so happy, and Tom and Emma so in love.

 

I’m watching Emma now, on the couch, the same couch, as she stares at the clock. It’s been broken a while, since Tom punched it in frustration. We don’t know exactly when that was but we assume it was the same night he found out about Jimi.

 

Emma was visiting her friends in London and took Jimi with her to show him off while Tom was having the guys over for a night in of booze, junk food and horrid movies.

 

About 3am, just before we were about to go to bed Tom got a phone call. Emma was hysteric sobbing about Jimi and something was wrong. Tom went into a panic and started pacing trying to get more information out of her.

 

Emma’s friend must have grabbed the phone because Tom was yelling and he would never yell like that to Emma. He was shouting before everything went quiet.

 

The whole house was silent staring at Tom, watching the tears fall from his eyes as his whole body seemed to just drain of all happiness and he slowly dropped to his knees before slowly closing his eyes a look of pure agony on his face as his head slowly bowed and his whole body shook, and wept.

 

I rushed forward wrapping my arms around him asking what had happened. Matty had grabbed his phone and talked to whoever was on the other line his face dropped too as the same words that had crushed Tom were repeated.

 

“No,” Matt muttered. “Oh no,” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

 

“Matt, what is it?” Lee asked him placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

“It’s bad,” he managed to mutter.

 

“Matt,” I questioned.

 

“Jimi...” was all Matt said before Tom started shaking more as he cried harder.

 

“What’s happened?” Jona snapped.

 

“Jimi’s in the hospital, he, he’s dead,” Matt’s voice wavered uncontrollably as tears filled his own eyes.

 

The house was still, no one even breathed as the impact of his words sunk in.

 

I don’t remember much, all I know is that it felt like a brick wall had just fallen on me and an elephant had taken up residency on my chest.

 

I couldn’t breathe properly, my stomach was churning, I felt sick, and my head was spinning. My nephew was dead. Gone. Just, gone.

 

I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Tom was feeling or Emma for that matter.

 

The rest of the night consisted of us sitting around on the couch, silent, no one said anything, by midday the next day Emma was escorted into the house by two of her female friends, they led her to the couch and she just clung onto Tom much like she does to me now, and sobbed.

 

The two of them hugged in silence, Emma on Tom’s lap, face buried in his chest as his face rested in her hair.

 

The day still haunts me. The sight of two broken adults, clinging to each other to keep the world from ending, only for Tom it did end.

 

November 26th, six days after my 28th birthday Tom killed himself.

 

I watched him from that shit day a few months earlier, until the night he finally snapped, watched the light slowly drain from his eyes each day.

 

Emma could see it, she was scared and worried. She had begged me a few times to sit Tom down and talk with him. I tried, lord knows I tried.

 

Tom was really quiet for the week leading up to it, it started at my birthday. We had a nice quiet evening, the band, Tom and Emma a nice restaurant with good food and good wine followed by a short walk to my place for some more drink and video games.

 

Tom hardly ate, didn’t speak to anyone and drank lots of wine.

 

We could all see it on Emma’s face, the worry and despair.

 

The day before Tom did it, he went and saw Mum and Dad, had lunch with them and acted like nothing was wrong, I should have guessed he was saying goodbye, but I didn’t.

 

He called me a few hours before hand, told me I was a great older brother and that Emma’s going to need my help soon, told me a few ideas for some drop dead merch and then hung up.

 

If I was smart I would have realised what was about to happen, depressed people only ‘suddenly’ get happy for one reason. Escape.

 

I got another call a few hours later from Emma, in hysterics sobbing that everyone she cared about always ends up leaving her.

 

At first I thought Tom had run away or something but the way Emma was crying, the words she used told me I was wrong. I dropped the phone and only after Amanda, who I was still with at the time, picked it back up and talked to Emma, did it sink in.

 

I met Emma and the guys at the hospital. It was déjà vu all over again.

Emma wouldn’t stop crying, mum and dad turned up and Mum and Emma clung to each other sobbing, Dad had a hand on my shoulder this time, not Tom’s. At that point I gave in, sat down on a chair, put my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands and cried my heart out.

 

 

 


End file.
